But I'm a Cheerleader
by Choice Creations
Summary: Santana likes Brittany but can Santana accept herself when their "friendship" goes too far? This is a scene I imagine occuring between Brittana long before Brittany's revelation that she and Santana are "not dating" in "Sectionals" - Season 1, Ep. 13.
1. Chapter 1

Santana likes Brittany but can Santana accept herself when their "friendship" goes too far? This is a scene I imagine occuring between Brittana long before Brittany's revelation that she and Santana are "not dating" in "Sectionals" - Season 1, Ep. 13.

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><p>Santana doesn't know why it keeps on happening, but it just does. Whenever they get together in their respective bedrooms to do homework (Brittany actually stares blankly at an upside down textbook wondering aloud, "I think, I'm dyslexic."), practicing some new Cheerio moves or taking turns to massage away the strain of another arduous Coach Sylvester practice from each other's shoulders, legs or lower back, they always end up making out.<p>

Actually, Santana knows exactly why it keeps happening. It's a change from all those guys she makes out with who she really isn't into, Brittany never asks questions, and it gets Santana hot. Not just that, I-need-a-cold-shower hot, but that sticky, wet kind that lingers in her panties long after Brittany has gone home. The kind of hot that warrants the use of Santana's "other" electric toothbrush, the one that's pushed to the far back of her nightstand. Santana's teeth aren't the only part of her that gets polished. She isn't worried about going blind either.

And it's easy with Brittany. Santana could pretty much get Brittany to do anything…well almost anything ("I'd do your English lit assignment for you," Brittany says. "But I'm not that good with numbers."); or get Brittany to believe anything ("You're right. Shoplifting is about better product placement. Those earrings look way better on you than on that display.")

Their make out sessions have gone from kissing to touching ("Your arms are so smooth," Brittany coos as she gently strokes Santana's arm from shoulder to wrist.) to more touching ("I like them. They're real soft," Brittany remarks during one of their make out sessions when she realizes that smoothing her hands over the embroidered "MWHS" on Santana's uniform was like reaching second base and learning braille at the same time. "Your boobs feel like Peeps©…with nipples.").

This time, they are in Santana's bedroom "studying" which now mainly consists of a lot of lip locking, heavy breathing and, their already-too-short cheerleader skirts hiked up even higher as their persistent hands knead over-stretched hamstrings. They had long ago discovered the pleasure of making out while lying atop one another, allowing their bare inner thighs to rub against the others. They create a feeling there, where they touch, that rises to a fevered pitch which they always manage to surpass each time they get together in that way. But this time, Santana is distracted; something is killing her sexy buzz, and she doesn't appreciate it. She has just about had enough of her uniform and the irritable itch it creates against her skin when she gets sweaty with Brittany.

"Aarrgh," Santana says, annoyed as she interrupts their session. "If I didn't look so damn hot in it and if it didn't afford me the Queen B status at MWHS, I would have melted it already. 'Polycotton blend' should never be in the description of any of my clothes."

"Then, take it off," Brittany says looking up at Santana, her lips puffy and pinker than usual from kissing too long.

Santana stares at Brittany in stunned disbelief; one, because this is one of the smartest things that this girl has ever said and, two, "Dios mio!"

"Sit up," Brittany says, matter-of-fact. "I'll help you."

Reluctantly raising herself of Brittany's warm body, Santana sits up and turns her back to Brittany who grasps Santana's ponytail upward so that she could see the start of her zipper. Santana bites her bottom lip as she feels her zipper descend from her neck to the middle of her back. She never noticed her zipper before; how the cold steel slides down each vertebra of her spine like a boney xylophone creating a musical chill throughout her body. How the opening of her uniform is more than just preparing for a shower after a challenging, sweaty practice. Santana notices her breath quicken but doesn't know why.

"You have a nice back," Brittany says. "It's so tan. I wish I had your color year round."

Santana removes the uniform off both shoulders and shimmies it down off her waist and onto the floor. She wears nothing more than her favorite black lace panty and bra, both adorned with a small, delicate pink bow. With her back still to Brittany, she removes the rubber band from her ponytail and shakes out her black wavy hair onto her toasty brown shoulders. Looking towards her back, without daring to make eye contact with Brittany, she says, "You have to take yours off too because I can't have my perfect skin rubbing on that."

"Okay," Brittany says managing to zip her own uniform effortlessly off her body.

Santana finally turns to fully face Brittany. They stare at each other, speechless. Santana is in awe of the feelings coursing through her body; her heart beats a little faster, her palms are clammy and hidden parts of her twitch and flutter against her will and feel really good. She wants to kiss Brittany more than ever… and not just on her lips. That thought startles Santana as much as wanting to touch Brittany's breasts used to.

Santana had long gotten over that unchartered territory. As long as they have clothes on, touching each other's boobs is standard practice during their make out sessions. Without it, is like having cookies without a glass of milk.

But this was different; this is going to be different. Brittany, on the other hand, wonders if her Hello Kitty© bra and underwear set is too suggestive for such an occasion.

"Uh, Brittany?" Santana asks.

"Ya."

"I just want you to know…," Santana continues.

"Ya?"

"That whatever happens…"

"Ya?"

"That whatever we do…"

"Uhuh," Brittany responds.

"No one will ever believe you."

Brittany thinks for a moment. After a deep sigh, she shrugs her shoulders and says, "Okay, whatever. Could we get our 'hot' back on now?"


	2. Chapter 2

Santana leans forward and lightly kisses Brittany. "You're beautiful", she whispers inaudibly against Brittany's lips; words she does not want Brittany to ever hear for fear that it reveals too much of Santana's feelings. Brittany responds by pulling Santana closer to her, sinking back into the mattress and pillows as she lets the weight of Santana's body settle heavily atop her.

As the intensity of their kisses flourish in each other's mouths, they barely notice how their legs have found themselves intertwined and how their pelvises rock slowly and rhythmically against each other. But they do notice how everything feels extra special now. They notice that they are touching in a place they have never touched this intimately before; a place that feels excited, urgent, insatiable, hungry, angry, and in dire need of soothing. They rock on each other a little harder and roll on each other a little faster.

In the intensity of the moment – the confusion and frustration of what this all means, and refuses to mean, to her – Santana gets the urge to grab something, a handful of Brittany's hair, and yanks it.

"Ouch!" Brittany yelps, surprised. "That hurts."

Santana devours Brittany's neck with kisses.

"That doesn't hurt," Brittany warmly purrs.

Brittany takes hold of Santana's hips and presses her body even closer to her own as whimpers and mews of pleasure escape from Brittany's gently parted lips.

Lost in rapture, Santana doesn't remember when her or Brittany's bras became unhooked or when their wet-soaked panties slid off their bodies, all Santana knows is that it feels super good; all that softness beneath her instead of a scratchy, hairy hard body on top of her. Brittany's breasts against her own are the biggest turn on she has ever experienced. And best of all, nothing poking at her, desperate and needy to get inside of her; nothing thick and menacing thrusting at her like a thief trying to fit through a window that's partially closed. All Santana feels is the glorious slick, squish, slosh and squeeze of Brittany between her legs, making her harder than she could ever imagine and wetter than in her dreams. Santana feels herself reach and yearn to be inside Brittany. Their flat, damp stomachs glide across each other effortlessly. As their pace speeds up, Santana is affronted by a sudden switch that is unexpectedly tripped bursting a dam of every pent up frustration, anger, insult, and passion she's held onto since she walked into MWHS; she takes a sharp breath in and holds it for what seems to be eternity. Then a sound in Santana's belly reaches a fevered pitch in her throat as she cries out at the sensation of coming in between Brittany. Santana clamps her eyes shut so tightly, they tear. Her legs weaken, numb, like they are floating right off her body which convulses in spurts of pleasure.

Exhausted, Santana lays her head down on Brittany's chest, letting Brittany's heartbeat lull her into a daze as Brittany's arms wrap around her. "Oh my God, I'm so - ," Santana cuts off her own unacceptable realization before it has the chance to ruin the moment. It's the last thought she has before she fades out to black.


	3. Chapter 3

Santana doesn't know how much time has passed when she is awoken by Brittany's butterfly kisses on her ears, eyes, nose and mouth. Brittany lies on her side facing Santana who responds to Brittany's kisses with her own. The surge comes back and rises from Santana's lower belly, up to her chest and into her mouth; a feeling that Santana knows only Brittany could pacify.

"Make me hot," Brittany whispers as she places Santana's hand in the palm of her own and guides it to the place below her bellybutton; a place that's hairless and smooth except for a shortly cut runway. Brittany slips Santana between soft folds of skin and opens herself to welcome two, then three, of Santana's tentative but curious fingers inside of her. Santana wets as much as the wet she feels.

"Yes," Brittany gasps into Santana's mouth. She begins to move, biting sharply on Santana's lips. Santana moves with her reaching higher when Brittany engulfs her, pulling away when Brittany does the same. First their rhythm is slow, in a dream-like way, when you don't know if you're awake or still asleep and when the dream is so good you don't want it to end. It is sweet in a syrupy way, the taste that makes you lick your fingers long after the last sticky strand has been consumed. It is timeless, like a clock without hands; there is no end to the beginning and no beginning to the end. And all the while they speed up together, then slow down, coat, and speed up some more. Both are oblivious to the yelps and cries that are expressing yet clearly communicate their need and urgency to see this pleasure through.

Brittany wraps her legs tightly around Santana's waist forcing Santana deeper into her. She closes her arms around Santana's back like a vice as Brittany releases a steamy, ecstasy-laden breath into Santana's hair and ear; contracting uncontrollably on Santana's fingers that won't stop moving until they are completely satisfied with their work.

After a long pause of stillness between them, as their breaths return from rapid to languid and their hearts slowdown from the adrenaline rush to a dopamine high, they roll apart from each other. They lay shoulder to shoulder silently staring up at Santana's bedroom ceiling caught between ebbing euphoria and the mounting feelings of surprise, wonderment and disbelief about what just happened.

"Santana?" Brittany asks.

"Uhuh…"

"Did we just - "

"A cigarette," Santana says with a start as she bolts right up into a seated position. "I need a cigarette."

"But you're a cheerleader," Brittany say. "Cheerleaders don't do things like that."

"I know," Santana says slumping her shoulders and covering her face with her hands.


End file.
